


Orion's Belt

by jillyfae



Series: By Stone and Shield [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Culture Shock, Dwarves, Friendship, Gen, Mentors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingva Brosca, meet the surface.</p>
<p>(And trees, and mountains, and snow, and cold, and really, weather takes some getting used to, doesn't it?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orion's Belt

Ingva Brosca was embarrassed to realize she was squeezing Warden Duncan's hand so tightly that she'd imprinted the pattern of his gauntlets into her own leather gloves. But, she kept looking up, and up kept going and going, _and were those white puffy things looking back at her?_ , and those green prickly things pointing out of the ground _was that how trees grew?_ kept moving and blowing instead of staying properly still like stone was supposed to, and she wasn't completely sure she could breathe with all that extra air everywhere, and everything was moving, and it didn't smell right, and it was so bright and blue and high and…

"Ah, my apologies Brosca, I should have thought. I have traveled with surface dwarves, I'd heard about the vertigo. Come and sit…"

And slowly, through the spinning, she realized that he was leading her to a handy rock, his deep voice smoothing out her nerves. Was he apologizing? Warden Duncan, who'd saved her life, probably saved her ancestral soul if she had such a thing, was apologizing for… what? Witnessing her behave like an idiot?

_Actually, maybe that was worth an apology. Very gentlemanly, apologizing to a lady when you see her be, um, not at her best? Yes, very nice of him._ Ingva felt herself nodding slowly, and barely suppressed a much-too-close-to-hysterical giggle. Well, it had been a couple of days since she'd gotten any decent sleep, as she certainly couldn't count the guard induced 'nap' after her arena battle. She had to be suffering from something pretty severe to have just thought of herself as a lady, after all. With a snort at her own ridiculousness, Ingva realized the world had finally settled itself properly, with steady ground beneath her and a mountain at her back.

"Well, that was almost as entertaining as the arena parties at Tapster's. No funny aftertaste though." Ingva shook her head slowly in mock regret. "I think I'm disappointed in the show your surface world put on for me. It's just not the same without ogre piss lingering on your tongue." She shot a glance up at Duncan as she grinned nervously. She was relieved to catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes, hiding behind the heavy sigh as he reached a hand down to help her up.

"And yet again, I have subjected myself to a recruit whose mouth is faster than her brain. You're all very determined to keep fighting, however, so I guess I'll just have to put up with you."

Ingva felt her earlier suppressed giggle sneak out again in surprise at her new mentor's secret sense of humor. He had been so very imposing as he'd stared down the guards in Orzammar. She'd been worried he'd regret picking up a mouthy little dwarf just because she was good at hitting things. No matter how well she'd done smacking her fellow dwarves around the last few days, she didn't think it was any guarantee she could do the same to _darkspawn._

The reminder of the plague of the Deep Roads up on the surface, for a Blight, squashed the remnants of her manic mood, and she felt tiredness settle onto her shoulders. Glancing over at Duncan, Ingva noticed the glint of humor was impossible to find in his eyes, replaced by a sad shadow in their depths and worry lines crinkling at their sides.

She found she hadn't the heart to add to that by asking about the Grey Wardens, or darkspawn, or battle plans, or politics. Instead, she did her best to bring back that spark of humor by asking about that weird white stuff she'd been sitting on that made her leathers all wet. Warden Duncan's attempted explanation of snow also required an explanation of rain for contrast, and a discussion of weather in general, and Ingva found herself glancing anxiously up at the sky the rest of the day, wondering about these surfacers who walked so calmly under something that chucked water at them without warning.

As if to prove her point, the clouds grew gray and heavy, and she got her first experience with proper weather when it started to snow right as they were making camp that evening. On the one hand, her hand-me-down tent did not keep out the cold and wet very well, and the fire had been hard to make with fresh snow soaking into all the wood.

_They burned wood! It was just lying around, all over the ground, waiting to be picked up._

This rather strongly suggested that weather was bad, and something to be avoided whenever possible.

On the other hand, snow was surprisingly pretty, and it made the animal tracks stand out, and she discovered she really liked the taste of rabbit, and Warden Duncan even settled down by the fire and told her about his first Ferelden winter, since apparently Orlais didn't get nearly as much snow. Anything that helped Duncan relax had to be a good thing, in her not so humbly held opinions.

The next day found them far enough out of the Frostbacks for the snow to melt, so now she had to ask about grass, and trees, and wind, and sunlight, and why the sky was blue, and why humans didn't build their houses properly underground, or at least out of stone. (Ingva was rather relieved the surface world was so weird, since it made it easy to think of plenty of silly questions, rather than worrying the Warden Commander about duty and honor and sacrifice.) Duncan sighed, and occasionally smiled, and actually listened to and answered every single question. Ingva was rather in awe of his patience, as she was pretty sure she would've smacked herself by now if she'd had to listen to all that babbling. But a combination of nerves and determination to figure out his sense of humor meant she couldn't seem to stop the chatter from continuing.

Finally, after walking for way too many hours, the sun started setting, and they set up camp, and things grew dark, and she saw **stars** , and forgot how to talk.

And Duncan finally laughed, (she could tell, even if it was just with his eyes, not the slightest twitch of his face), and taught his new pupil about constellations.


End file.
